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Rose and Kanya’s wedding ceremony is fucking gorgeous. Which is really to be expected from the two of them (and Roxy). You want to be mad at the sheer amount of fairy lights cascading down from the bows of surrounding trees and strung across poles leading to the archway. But that shit’s kinda breathtaking, yo.
You make a joke at Aradia’s expense when you first see the decorations, before Rose has put on whatever it is she’s going to wear.
“Aren’t there enough faries here?” you’d said, gesturing to where Aradia was lounging about in godteir garb, immutable smile lingering on her face.
Rose had just smiled at you, unfooled by your typical impassive remark. But what’s fuckin new.
Rose begs off to change and you go to talk to Aradia after that, having done your duty in displaying your typical amount of bravado.
“So, you’ve been gone a while.” You begin casually.
“Yes.” Aradia replies, then doesn’t elaborate.
“You sticking around?” You ask.
“No.” Aradia replies, once again without elaboration.
You pause for a beat, unsure how to carry this conversation.
“You coming back at any point?”
She grins, and her cheeks dimple.
“Where would be the fun in telling you that?”
“You know what, that’s fair.” You say, and then walk away, because that chick is unnerving.
Your eyes fall naturally to Karkat. He’s sitting on one of the fold up chairs and holding a champagne flute up to his face in a way that is clearly meant to hide emotions. You in no way know this because it was originally your plan for when the ceremony got started. No, that is not the case at all.
You decide to go bother him.
“Yo.” you say, slumping down into the seat next to him.
“Fuck off, Strider.” He responds, voice decidedly wobbly.
“The ceremony hasn’t even started.” Dave remarks. “You already bustin’ out the waterworks?”
“Fuck. Off.” Karkat reiterates. “You may be a human, but you obviously still don’t understand the gravity of the human “wedding” tradition. I watched countless human rom-coms in an attempt to cultivate an understanding of these beautiful ceremonies. It’s a representation of your human “love” strider.”
He jabs a finger at you. “Each one of these decorations represents that. This is by far the most gorgeous wedding I’ve seen. The ones in those movies pale in comparison. This function is fucking enchanting, and you should appreciate that.”
He’s enchanting, you think before you can stop yourself. Then you just go ahead and bite that sentiment back like the most confusing dorito in the world.
Being attracted to Karkat is not a new sentiment. You hopped onto the mutual attraction train headed straight over fuckbuddies cliff about a year ago. The ship has sailed, the train has crashed, and for some reason neither of you have called mayday.
What’s startlingly new, in this moment, is seeing the play of fairy lights on Karkat’s face as he rants about weddings and feeling the distinct urge to wife him up
It must be wedding fever? Is that a thing? Like baby fever, but for weddings? Because you’re calling a mayday right now, you’ve fallen to the lovefluenza virus.
“The fuck are you looking at Strider.”
You’ve been staring.
“Your face.” You say, somewhat less wittily than normal.
“Well… stop it.” He says, clearly confused.
“No.” You say.
“...yes.” He says, then more firmly. “Cut that shit out.”
You continue to stare at him.
“I’m serious.” He says, sounding unnerved.
“So am I.” You respond.
He slaps your arm, then says, louder. “Stop!”
You don’t even blink. “No.”
“Strider I swear to FUCK—“ he begins, pointing, voice mounting in volume before cutting abruptly off.
Someone grabs the side of your head and you feel a flash of pain from the other side as it knocks into Karkat’s. It’s not that hard but it still smarts a bit.
“Ow!” Karkat exclaims, rubbing his head. “What the fuck Harley?”
“You two chucklefucks need to calm it down, this is going to be an incident free wedding!”
“How does Cujo the space-witch going rabid to fight us not count as an incident?” You quip.
“It’s called platonic BDSM Dave, look it up.” She sticks her tongue out at you.
“That was neither safe, sane, nor consensual.” You say, at the same time as Karkat says “BDSM doesn’t usually involve concussions.”
Harley gives you both a suspicious look.
“How do you two know these things?”
You both pause for a beat too long. By all means, Karkat shouldn’t be too well versed on the subject, but you’d sort of introduced him to it after a conversation about whether or not humans had kismesis.
You’d told him hatefucking is pretty rare, but beating each other up during sex isn’t. Then next thing you knew you were showing him porn and fielding his questions to the best of your inexperienced ability until you both stopped hiding the fact that you were horny and fucked.
“There’s this thing called the internet Harley.” You answer, late.
“I know what the internet is!” She exclaims, fists on her hips.
“Jeez, this is a wedding Harley, cool it.” You respond, neatly sidestepping your way out of the subject for good.
She rolls her eyes at you. “I’m watching you two, no funny business. The ceremony starts in ten.”
“Yes ma’am.” You respond, saluting cheekily.
——
You and Karkat calm down a bit after that, and more people begin to trickle into the wedding until the admittedly small amount of seats are full.
You notice John taking his place at a piano, and he gives you a smile and a wave before beginning to play the wedding march.
The mayor marches out with that strange scuttling gait of his as the piano plays its first sweet notes. Karkat’s shoulders begin to shake next to you. You’ve gotta admit, seeing the mayor toss petals around in time with John’s piano playing is cute as hell.
They had decided against bridesmaids and best men, seeing as it’s a small ceremony and they’re close with pretty much all the guests. So after the mayor has finished spreading petals down the aisles and sits down, it’s time for the brides to walk.
As expected from those two, they slide out of the building they were changing in and into the aisle with graceful strides, Roxy between them, linking her arms through theirs.
That’s when you start crying, because you remember when Rose lost her mom. You know how badly that grief hurt her and how much her relationship with Roxy has helped to curb that grief. She’s not a mom by any means but biology, but she is dear to Rose.
You manage to control your body movements so you aren’t outwardly sobbing, but you know Karkat sees the tears streaming down your face anyways.
——
The rest of the ceremony goes beautifully. As soon as John is done on piano he starts taking photos for his Snapchat with a fervor, which you and Karkat both avoid, neither particularly fond of the idea of photo documentation of your crying.
Then the cherub breaks out the drugs.
——
You watch the proceeding events with relative wonder.
Roxy takes a huge ass lick out of the lollipop Calliope brought and does a magical girl transformation into a garishly bright color scheme. She then tackles Jane, yelling her name. They both come up with similarly bright colors. You vaguely wonder if this is going to be a zombie apocalypse kind of situation as the two split up to capture the other two alpha kids.
Jake gets John in a headlock, and Dirk meanders in your direction, seemingly much more calm than the rest of the neon pricks. You still back up a step.
“Yo.”
“Sup Wesley. You been building a resistance?” You quip at his apparent lack of reaction beside change in color scheme.
“Princess Bride. Sick.”
Sometimes you forget that Dirk doesn’t have the same veneer of irony over his special interests as bro did. You let out a snort before you can stop it.
He smirks a little back at you in response.
Roxy cartwheels past.
“So… you’re not acting like you just did a line of cocaine.”
“Nope. Too cool for drugs.”
“Shit.” You reply, genuinely impressed. “Must be the Strider genes.”
He quirks an eyebrow, then places his hand on your shoulder.
——
The rest of the wedding is a whirlwind, one that Rose and Kanaya luckily don’t seem all too upset to be caught up in. Doubly luckily, everyone in trickster mode fully focuses on the two brides instead of descending into unrelated chaos.
But after you’re all done lifting their chairs and whooping their praises, they wander off for their first dance and the tricksters disperse.
You make a beeline for Karkat. He’s been watching the proceedings with relative amusement, and you’ve caught his eye and winked more than once, making him blush. He’s standing by Jade, but you can see John approaching from behind with a whip cream pie, so you doubt that’ll last long.
Now as you approach you can’t seem to bring yourself to withhold a grin that is, in all likelihood, goofy as hell. Karkat’s blush deepens and he seems unsure of himself.
“Karkat.” You say, grin still in full force.
“Strider.” He responds apprehensively. “What’s with the creepy smile?”
“Just happy to see your face.” You say, still smiling.
“You’ve seen my face every day for years now you imbecile.” He exclaims, hands coming up as if to clutch his face. He catches them before they can and settles into his usual crossed arm stance.
“Doesn’t make me like it any less beautiful.”
Karkat glances behind him, looking for Jade, but she’s been pied into trickster mode by John and they’ve fucked off to god knows where. He looks back to you.
“I’m not going to fuck you right now.” He says, voice more hushed than usual. “You look ridiculous in pastel and you’re obviously drugged out of your mind.”
“That’s fine,” You respond sincerely, “you should marry me though.”
He chokes on air.
“Jegus fucking Christ you monumental dingus, can you drop the weirdly plasticine chipper irony for a second? Are you physically capable of not fucking with me right now? I’m trying to enjoy your sisters fucking wedding.”
“It isn’t irony,” You respond, unbothered by his usual tirade, “I mean it.”
You reach out to take his hand, but he snatches them away from you before you can.
“Nope.” He says, blushing furiously but resolute. “You’re not spreading that trickster shit to me. Stay away from me until you’re sober and done trying to fuck with me.”
You stare after him as he walks away, your recently acquired need to respect Karkat’s clearly set boundaries warring with the elation and sincerity trickster mode has imbued you with.
John pies you in the back of the head while you’re distracted.
——
The morning after the wedding you wake up feeling mortification before anything else.
You clearly remember the events of the previous night, the most stark being your realization that you are, in fact, in love with Karkat.
That makes shit definitively complicated.
You sigh and sprawl out onto your back, genuinely surprised that you ended up in your own bed rather than a bush somewhere.
You hadn’t talked to Karkat after that interaction, but you caught his eye more than once across the wedding, you know he was watching you for most of it. Any time you tried to approach him though, he just started walking away until you got the hint.
“Fuck.” You murmur, trying to form a game plan.
So you’re in love with Karkat. You kind of want to marry his dumb ass. But you kind of also probably should try dating his dumb ass first.
You sigh and flip through your phone to text him.
You type and delete many messages before settling on a simple “wanna meet up?”
You aren’t entirely satisfied with it, but it’s better than “can we talk?” That’s for damn sure.
It takes a couple of minutes before he responds with a “YEAH. MY PLACE IN AN HOUR.”
The sight of all caps in your notifications never fails to make you buzz with happiness, and you set your phone aside after allowing yourself the tiniest of smiles, alone in your room.
——
Exactly an hour later you find yourself knocking on Karkat’s door and waiting all of fifteen seconds before he answers.
“Yo.” You say upon seeing his face, suddenly at a loss from the desire to kiss him warring your need to somehow get him to date you.
“Get in idiot.” He says, in his usual brash manner. A manner you had no clue was growing on you so terribly.
You get in, standing far more awkwardly than you normally would.
“Christ.” He says. “What the fuck is wrong with you today you awkward fuck? Just go sit on the couch so I can ride your dick then decimate you at smash.”
That gets you to respond.
“You think you can decimate me at smash?”
“I know it.” He says, cocksure as ever despite his lack of skill when it comes to anything electronic.
“Please.” You say, flopping comfortably onto the couch. “Feel free to attempt to avoid the metric fuck ton of ass whooping I’m about to lay on you.”
You spread your arms wide.
“I eagerly await the moment you break your controller in frustration and rage quit.”
Karkat grumbles deep in his throat, this little growly noise no human can make that you’ve come to greatly appreciate. He deposits himself in your lap and you are really not about to complain about that.
“Riding first, then I prove you wrong.”
He grabs your face and kisses you before you can spit out a witty comment about needing to put a quarter in your slot.
Before long you both fall into the comfortable back and forth rhythm you’ve perfected over the year you’ve been fucking. This slow, deep thing that builds its way up until you’re sloppy and panting, painfully hard.
He grinds down into you, and you instinctively buck up, chasing the feeling. His eyes are intense on yours and he bites his lip in a way that makes you want to smooth it over and then bite it yourself.
He’s so fucking perfect and he’s reaching for his pant button and you’re realizing you still haven’t told him that you want to date him.
You stop his hand before he can unclasp the button. His brow furrows adorably.
“The fuck are you doing Strider?”
You freeze up, hand still over his. What are you doing? You have no clue what to say to him. No clue how to tell him what you feel for him.
He gives you a strange look.
“I don’t know what you’re trying to do here. Seriously. Just fuck me already Strider.”
All at once, you regain your ability to talk.
“What if I want to gently lay you down on a bed of roses and bang you softly instead. What then?”
His perplexed look deepens, as does the flush on his face.
“Don’t those things have thorns?”
“Of course I would have gently plucked every one of those thorns painstakingly from their stems, so as to prevent you any harm.”
Or you could just use the petals.
In fact, you think, it might be a good idea if this declaration has some sort of romantic gesture to accompany it. You’ve long since figured out how to time travel without your turn tables, and after a minute internal debate, you decide to heavily abuse that ability.
By Karkat’s next blink you’ve already bought rose petals, broken in through his bedroom window, and scattered them about his bed.
You grab him under the butt and hoist him into the air, startling a little noise out of him as you carry him into the bedroom.
“What the fuck?” He yelps. “I didn’t agree to this little aerial tour of my own fucking apartment dickhead.”
You set him down in front of the bedroom door and give him a slight smile, taking in his disgruntled face with more than a little fondness before bowing.
“M’lady.” You say, opening the door as you swing up from the bow.
You expect Victorian era levels of swoon when Karkat sees the petals and candles you’ve arranged in his room. He’s an absolute sucker for rom-coms, there’s no way he isn’t going to eat this shit up.
“The fuck is this shit?” Karkat asks.
You’re not sure why you expected any different from him. You sweep a grand gesture towards the room.
“It’s my attempt to woo you.” You let your arm flop to your side. “It doesn’t seem to be working.”
He squints at you suspiciously.
“What are you trying to do here Strider?”
“I’m trying to get you to date me?”
“You went through all the trouble of teaching me about “fuckbuddies”” he puts actual air quotes up at this, “and how you don’t have to be dating to be “all up in each other’s business—“
You wince at the exact recounting of your words, lucky for your shades.
“—and now you want to be human matesprits? I honestly thought we were leaning towards kismesis.”
“No.” You say, smarting a little at the implication that he hates you. “I want to be human dating you. That means no kismesis or matesprits for either of us. A monogamous relationship. I’m fine with morails, but I want both your concupiscent quadrants.”
Karkat opens his mouth, gapes a bit, then flushes a red so bright it shows even under his grey skin.
“You butchered that pronunciation.” He finally settles on, closing his mouth and crossing his arms.
“Yeah, but the impropriety is doing things to your poor gay heart. Plus the fact that I learned about troll romance just because I know you're a sucker for that shit.”
“Charmingly put, ass slug.”
“That’s what I mean.” You say. “We don’t have to be in a quadrant, we can banter, bicker, and sexually abuse each other like we’re black rom while still having flushed feelings and also making sure the abuse is fun and fully consensual!”
Karkat buries his face in his hands.
“I could barely handle this level of sincerity knowing that you were high out of your goddamned thinkpan, this is going to make grey matter leak out of my ears soon.”
“You think it’s charming.” You assert, with a rakish grin.
“It’s so out of left field that I’m tempted to have Rose check you for demons.”
“I’d prefer if you checked.” You say, flopping to the bed and mock swooning. “Oh Doctor Vantas, do check my pants first for those vile demons.”
He growls in response. “Don’t tempt me into an ironically comical game of role play chicken, you know we’ll both over commit and have some very confusing orgasms.”
You laugh, and he quirks a smile at you, straddling your lap for the second time today, he doesn’t lean in for a kiss this time.
“So you want both my concupiscent quadrants?” He asks. “That’s a tall order, I’m in high demand.”
“You seem to forget that I’m kind of a big deal, stock market trading, raking in the big boonbucks. I think I can afford it.”
He does the thing where he tries to sneer at you but he really wants to smile, this goofy expression he thinks is intimidating and you can’t get enough of. You lean in to kiss it off his face.
He tries to bite you, but you keep the kiss gentle, cupping his face until he matches your pace.
You break apart for air and he eyes you consideringly.
“You’re a sap Strider.”
You flip him off your lap and onto his back, settling your weight over him and mentally thanking your bro for making you do push ups every day since you were five. You could hover over him on your forearms for hours if you wanted, but you’ve seen his arms tremble when he tried to do it himself.
Leaning in, you kiss the indignance off his face, kiss him until you’re dizzy for lack of breath. Then he takes the opportunity to flip you over again, settling in your lap.
He knows better than to try to mirror the position you were just in, but you’re still flat on your back, not sitting up to meet him.
“Come here.” He demands.
You prop yourself up on your elbows.
“Why?” You ask, smirking.
“Because I still haven’t decided if I want to give you both my quadrants yet and you’re trying to win me over.”
You sit up more fully, close enough to feel his breath. Then you pluck a rose petal from his hair.
“Yes sir.” You say cheekily, flicking the petal away.
You don’t miss the look in his eyes at that. He’s always liked it when you call him things like that, and you know it probably has something to do with the fact that he’s constantly been made to feel powerless because of his caste, that he’s always struggling to prove himself.
Really you just think it’s sexy, that glint in his eyes.
He scratches his claws through the back of your hair and a shiver runs down your spine. He curls his hand possessively around your neck, and uses his other hand to take your glasses off. You don’t open your eyes, you know he’s about to kiss you and you’d rather keep your eyes closed in anticipation like a dumbass than squint because the light is too bright like a dumbass.
“Open your eyes.” He says, and you do.
His lock with yours and his thumb smooths circles over your jaw from where his hand still rests against your throat. You feel your lips part slightly.
“I’ll never get over that color.” He says, his voice in an intimate register.
This is… more intense than you’re used to. It makes you want to squirm, to look away. Instead you hold his gaze.
He slides off your lap and faces you, arms crossed.
“Get up.”
You do.
“Strip.”
You smirk, but comply without comment. You probably couldn’t think of anything witty to say at this point anyways.
Once your clothes are off and you’re fully exposed to the elements he takes a long moment to look you over. You honestly feel more exposed for lack of your aviators than the rest of your clothes. His gaze makes you want to squirm though, and you’re following it so intently it’s like a physical touch.
“Like what you see?” You quip, even as you struggle to resist the urge to cover your erect cock.
You just want something to break the silence.
“Yes.” He responds simply, then pushes you into the bed.
It’s a gentle push, and you go propped onto your elbows, watching him strip as well.
He has to take his jeans and underwear off at the same time. As soon as the pressure of his jeans is removed, his bulge unsheathes—already wet and attempting to curl around his thigh.
He climbs into your lap again, and when he grabs your dick you expect him to lead it back into his nook. Instead he lets his bulge wrap around it, still wet and hot from being held in his sheathe. You moan as it expands and contracts around you, your head falling back.
He grabs your hair, yanking your head to the side and exposing your neck to suck on. You’re starting to feel overwhelmed at the myriad of sensations he’s layering on all at once, stuttering out a moan. He pinches a nipple.
“Fuck!” You say sharply. He’s more intense than usual, it’s fucking awesome.
He detaches from your neck and starts in on another hickey, nails scraping down your sides and bulge still working your dick over. It sends a shiver down your spine.
Your pride calls for you to flip him over and give as good as you’re getting. But you’re getting pretty fucking good and you don’t particularly want it to stop.
There’s a rumbling purr of satisfaction vibrating in his chest, you can feel it where it’s pressed against yours, just barely stimulating your nipples. He finishes and starts another hickey in short order and you just know you’re going to have a choker in the morning. But you honestly can’t be assed to care.
You feel orgasm building, even as your hips try futilely to thrust into the grasp of his bulge, which sets its own pace with its strange pulsing movements.
Karkat finishes making your very pretty necklace and sits back on his heels to admire it. To admire you, face flushed, panting and so ready to come you’re practically shivering. He gives you a considering look. Then his bulge releases you and you groan, head thumping against the bed in frustration.
“Calm your tits.” He says, his own voice much calmer than usual. “I have an idea.”
He hops off the bed and then makes a shooing motion until you get the hint and somewhat awkwardly shimmy back until your head is on the pillow. He clambers back into your lap, but facing the wall instead of you this time. He has a nice ass. You admire it greedily as he positions himself over your cock, and then you watch him sink down onto it, biting your lip.
You’ll never get over how damn tight he is, how each time he lifts up off you it feels like his nook is struggling to keep you inside. He rides you slowly at first, adjusting. Then he rests with your hips flush for a moment before grabbing your legs and pulling them up so your feet are flat on the bed, knees bent and open. It startles a yelp out of you, which coaxes a huff of laughter from him. You can feel his nook tighten with the movement and you groan.
Honestly, you don’t have a clue what he’s doing. That is, until you feel something wet teasing your entrance. His bulge. Your hands fly to his hips, holding him in place. If he moves now you’ll come far too fast.
“Why have we never thought of this before?” You moan.
Karkat bats your hands away, hips grinding circles into yours, bulge still teasing your asshole.
“Karkat.” You whine, nails digging into his hip. He probably doesn’t even feel it. Damn troll skin.
He begins to ride you again, hips rolling with a sinuous grace that you hadn’t known to expect from him until very recently. Most of his movements are sharp and pointed. But when you fuck they all slide into each other.
The tip of his bulge wiggles in and you gasp, one foot sliding down and then back up again. You can hear his own breath coming in harsh pants, his legs trembling as he rides you harder, faster.
You can feel your orgasm building back up again.
“Wait—“ you begin to gasp out, knowing you’re going to come soon if he doesn’t slow down, feeling the shock at the base of your spine, the mounting pleasure about to teeter over. But his bulge slips further in as he grinds down, unhearing. It’s tapered, thicker at this point, and the stretch of his bulge has you clenching in surprise. You feel his own nook clench in response, and that’s it, you're gone.
Your orgasm crashes over you harder than you expected, and you squirm under the overwhelming sensations, pressing your face into your shoulder and breathing out harsh panting breaths as you come inside him.
He shudders over you and clenches around you and it feels so good you want to scream. But instead you just whine a little in the back of your throat, muscles loose and thrumming.
He’s still rocking over you, gentler now so as not to overstimulate you.
“Fuck.” You whisper under your breath, attempting to regain your composture.
He sighs out a shuddering breath, and you know you’re going soft too fast to fuck him until he comes.
“Come sit on my face.” You say, voice still soft and breathy.
He trails nails up your thigh before complying, whining at the loss of your cock as he unstraddles you. He turns to face you and then shuffles until he’s hovering over your face.
You don’t waste much time, you can tell he was pretty close to coming himself. So you bury three fingers in his nook with one hand, moving them like you’re drumming fingers on a tabletop, the way you’ve found he likes best. You use your other hand to grab his bulge, leading it to your mouth to lick a stripe along the side as you squeeze the base in pulses, not caring that his fluids are smearing on your cheek, in your hair as you lick your way further down.
He shudders above you, that strange purring starting again, this rumble deep in his chest. You take his bulge into your mouth, sucking it in as far as you can until you feel yourself starting to gag. His bulge curls and unfurls inside your mouth, your hand still squeezing its base, more sporadically now as you try to concentrate on moving your fingers inside him as well.
Evidently he doesn’t mind, because his bulge pulses in your mouth and he moans one last throaty cry before filling your mouth with his come. You swallow, because it’s too pigmented to spit near fabric, and then continue to coax him through his orgasm until he bats your wrist away, rolling onto his side next to you.
You had teased him, the first time you’d made him come, because you had been expecting trolls to come more than humans. Why else would they need buckets? But that had led to an hour long rant, and you now fully understand that trolls only need to fill buckets around drone season, though you have yet to figure out when exactly that is.
Now you’re just grateful he jizzes an amount that makes swallowing manageable.
“So.” You begin, voice a little hoarse.
He groans at the break in the comfortable silence, but you muscle through.
“So.” You say again. “We’re dating now, right?”
He rolls over to face you, brow furrowed. Hes silent for a long moment, and you feel the fluttering of nerves building in your stomach.
He squints at you.
“Do you really think I would fuck you after you ask me to date you without intending to date you?” He asks.
You sigh slightly in relief. You didn’t even know you were holding your breath.
“Nah.” You say, rolling your head to face the ceiling.
You’re both quiet for a while, you can feel your fingers brushing against his, the rise and fall of his chest next to you.
“Yes.” He says. “We are.”
He curls up into your side, and your hand curls in his on top of the blanket. You smile at the ceiling. It’s broad, uncontrollable, and sincere.